


I Belong to You Forever

by Haydenn11



Series: Good Omens Greatest Hits [14]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Also inspired by fanart, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale is badass, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is hurt and Aziraphale is helping, Hurt/Comfort, I would label it as a crossover, Knight Aziraphale (Good Omens), Knight Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Random Merlin Cameo, Scene: Kingdom of Wessex 537 AD (Good Omens), Song: Seven Seas Of Rhye, Songfic, but it's like four lines, whiteley foster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29619180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haydenn11/pseuds/Haydenn11
Summary: 14. Seven Seas of RhyeThe armies met on the field at dawn, though Aziraphle could hardly tell it was dawn by the angry storm clouds gathering in the sky.Aziraphale sat astride his dapple grey destrier and cantered alongside King Arthur, biting his lip to keep his thoughts to himself as they rode. They crested the hill and saw the battlefield spread before them. The edges of the field were shrouded in mist and the ground looked damp. Aziraphale tried to think of how much damper it would become after the blood of a few hundred men was drained onto it.He had tried hard to avoid this. He had worked with King Arthur for months to negotiate a peace, but it had all been for naught. King Cendred of Essetir was hell bent on war. It seemed that a feeling of despair and discord had been fomented throughout his kingdom and all their malice was directed at Camelot. Aziraphale tried not to think about who had done the fomenting.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Greatest Hits [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069535
Comments: 17
Kudos: 74





	I Belong to You Forever

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Major Character injury, mildly graphic descriptions of violence. 
> 
> I had been considering setting my fic for Seven Seas of Rhye in Wessex. It seemed appropriate since Rhye is apparently a fantasy land Freddie Mercury made up when he was a kid. It seemed to go with the idea of Camelot and King Arthur. I had actually been planning something quite different than what a wrote, but then Whiteley Foster posted the work that appears at the end of this fic on her Pateron with an open invitation for writers to use it if they wrote an appropriate fic, and so I switched gears.  
> If you don't know who Whiteley Foster is, she is a phenomenal artist who has created a plethora of Good Omens comics and artwork. Please go check her out on [ Tumblr,](https://whiteleyfoster.tumblr.com/) [ Instagram,](https://www.instagram.com/whiteleyfoster/) [ or Patreon!](https://www.patreon.com/Whiteley_Foster/posts)  
> This weirdly ended up being kind of a Merlin crossover. I needed an opposing army, so I turned to Merlin for names of kingdoms and kings Camelot could potentially be at war with. I decided to write a little Merlin/Arthur cameo. I didn't label this fic as a crossover, though, because they're in it for like four lines. But, if you are also a Merlin fan like me, I hope it makes you smile. 
> 
> This is also the first fic in this series to be written from Aziraphale's point of view, FYI. It seemed to make the most sense once I saw the picture at the end.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Comments and feedback are always appreciated.

[ Seven Seas of Rhye by Queen ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4rMjaeyOhE&ab_channel=Queen-Topic)

* * *

The armies met on the field at dawn, though Aziraphle could hardly tell it was dawn by the angry storm clouds gathering in the sky. 

Aziraphale sat astride his dapple grey destrier and cantered alongside King Arthur, biting his lip to keep his thoughts to himself as they rode. They crested the hill and saw the battlefield spread before them. The edges of the field were shrouded in mist and the ground looked damp. Aziraphale tried not to think of how much damper it would become after the blood of a few hundred men was drained onto it. 

He had tried hard to avoid this. He had worked with King Arthur for months to negotiate a peace, but it had all been for naught. King Cendred of Essetir was hell bent on war. It seemed that a feeling of despair and discord had been fomented throughout his kingdom and all their malice was directed at Camelot. Aziraphale tried not to think about who had done the fomenting. 

On the other side of the field, emerging slowly through the mist, the other army became visible. Their numbers were far larger than Arthur’s advisors had estimated. Rows and rows of armor clad men wielding spears and swords and bows marched onto the field. Aziraphale felt cold fear twist his insides and he fought to keep his face impassive. 

Aziraphale wasn’t afraid of war, per se. One could argue it was what he was made for. He had commanded battalions in the war in Heaven before the Fall. He had been given a flaming sword to guard the Eastern Gate, and he would command armies again during Armageddon. No, he wasn’t afraid of war, mostly he was just tired of it. He loathed killing innocents. He was afraid for all the men, just soldiers following the orders of their king, who would meet him on the battlefield and not know how hopelessly outmatched they were. He loathed the work he was here to do, despite Heaven’s assurances that it needed done. 

“Arthur,” The king’s servant, Merlin, spoke out of turn, as was his custom, “Arthur, you can still end this. If you just spoke to Cendred again, I’m sure you could save many lives.” 

The king sighed sadly, holding his hand out for Merlin to hand him his helmet. “No, Merlin, I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.”

The servant shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“You better hope not!” Arthur put his helmet on. “Or you’ll be out of a job.” 

King Arthur rode out to address his troops. Azirapahle was sure that the speech was inspiring and heartwarming, but he heard none of it. He was too busy scanning the opposing army for any sign of the Black Knight. It was almost impossible to distinguish one soldier from another, and most of them were wearing black, but Aziraphale scanned the ranks for a flash of familiar red hair. He didn’t see it. 

He silently prayed that Crowley wasn’t there. That he was safe and far away from this mess. Demon he may be, but death and destruction were never his strong suits. Aziraphale realized too late and with horror what he had prayed for and quickly changed it to a prayer that Crowley wasn’t there so more humans would be safe, hoping fervently that God hadn’t heard the first request. 

Too soon, the blast of war horns shook Aziraphale back into himself and he charged with his fellow knights down the hill into the frontlines of Cendred’s army. The two armies came together like tidal waves, crashing and breaking upon each other. The throaty roars of dying men and the clang of steel on steel were deafening. 

Aziraphale charged in on his destier, swinging his sword and rending the armor of mortal men with every blow. Each one made him feel numb and hollow. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils and settled heavily on his soul. His movements were perfunctory and practiced. With every dying man, he saw an angel he had sent tumbling to Hell an eternity ago and his heart broke. 

So lost was he in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the first volley of arrows, or the second. It wasn’t until a stray arrow embedded itself in his thigh, causing him to lose his balance and tumble from his horse, that Aziraphale registered just how close he had gotten to enemy lines. He knelt in the mud for a moment, catching his breath while the battle raged around him.

The arrow hurt, but it hadn’t hit anything vital. It was nothing a small miracle couldn’t fix. He steadied himself with a breath, grasped the arrow shaft firmly, and pulled the arrow straight up. It came out with a sickening squelch and an involuntary shout tore through Aziraphale’s lips as it did and his leg throbbed. He discarded the arrow and snapped his fingers. He felt the muscles in his thigh knitting themselves back together and a moment later, the throbbing subsided somewhat. 

He stood, testing his weight on his leg. It was sore the way a bruise or sore muscle might be, but he could walk. Aziraphale tried to get his bearings, the chaos around him hadn’t stopped for a single moment. The air was still thick with death. His white cloak and gleaming armor were splattered with mud and the blood of who knew how many innocent men. His horse was long gone, and he wasn’t sure which way he should go.

He was about to limp back to where the King was when a familiar voice shouted “Angel! Look out!” 

Aziraphale swung around in time to see one of Cendred’s soldier’s charging at him, spear held aloft and aimed directly at him. Aziraphale reacted with inhuman speed and caught the blow on the edge of his sword. He shoved the soldier roughly and he staggered backwards. The advantage was temporary, though. The soldier regained his balance quickly and charged again. 

This time Aziraphale grabbed the spear’s shaft with his free hand and yanked it hard. The soldier lost his grip on his spear and came tumbling into Aziraphale. The both staggered backwards, and the soldier took advantage of the momentary confusion to rip Aziraphale’s helmet off. Aziraphale, disoriented, tried to steady himself, but before he could, the soldier gave him a hard shove, and the angel stepped backwards onto his injured leg, which wobbled precariously beneath him. 

The soldier took out a dagger and looked at Aziraphale with a malicious glint in his eye. Aziraphale tried to retreat and regain his balance, but he found himself pressed against a pile of bodies with no escape. The soldier started forward, his dagger brandished, intent on shoving it through Aziraphale’s eye. He didn’t make it more than two steps before the point of a sword burst through the back of his throat, spraying Aziraphale with droplets of blood. The soldier's body fell to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut, and behind him stood a familiar red-haired, snake-eyed demon. 

Aziraphale's heart swelled at the sight of him, but the warm feeling was quickly replaced by a cold one. A battlefield was no place for Crowley. Again, Aziraphale caught himself in that thought and immediately tried to rationalize that it was concern for the humans, and not for Crowley himself that made him think it.

“Angel, what are you doing here!” Crowley shouted over the din of battle. 

“The same thing as you, I imagine.”

“You have to leave. Arthur’s army is outnumbered. Camelot is going to fall. It's not safe for you.” 

“You’re just trying to get me to leave so your side can win! You wily serpent!!” Aziraphale accused. “They will certainly fail if their divine protector turns tail and retreats like a coward.”

“No. Angel, I’m serious. Go and get somewhere safe before you get discorpor– hungh.” Crowley gasped like all the wind had been knocked out of him and staggered forward as if he had been pushed unexpectedly from behind. His eyes went wide and Aziraphale watched as the yellow of them crept to the edges, eradicating any pretense of humanity. Crowley doubled over and fell to his knees, and as he did so, Aziraphale could see the arrow protruding from his ribs, embedded far deeper than the one in his thigh had been. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale rushed forward and caught the demon before he fell face first in the mud, all thoughts of opposite sides and demonic wiles completely forgotten. 

“Angel,” Crowley groaned through gritted teeth, “Please, just bloody go.”

“And leave you like this? What in Heaven were you thinking?”

“Well, I was trying to save your corporation, but you're too bloody stubborn to run for your own good.”

“I’m too stubborn! Crowley, you could have been discorporated!” 

Crowley chuckled sardonically, and Aziraphale winced at the way the sound wheezed and gurgled out of him. “I don’t think we can rule that out quite yet, angel. I think it's just taking a minute.” 

Aziraphale took his face in both hands and tilted it upwards. The pain there was evident, as was Crowley’s attempt to pretend it wasn’t. He coughed and gasped in pain and tried to pass it off as another laugh, but he couldn’t mask the blood that dripped out of the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale couldn’t stop the tears welling in his eyes. 

“Black Knight!” Aziraphale’s head shot up at the noise. It came from one of Arthur’s white-clad knights and was accompanied by the metallic scraping of a sword being unsheathed. “Sir Aziraphale, stand back!”

Aziraphale stared at the man, his features hardening slowly. All the sadness and pain from moments ago melting away to be replaced by hard, determined fury. He tightened his arms protectively around Crowley and growled, “You. Will. Not. Touch. Him.”

“Sir Aziraphale.” The knight’s voice faltered. “It’s the Black Knight. He must be destroyed.”

“I said NO!” Aziraphale shouted, his voice crackled and echoed with divine energy, magnifying it far beyond a normal human decibel. “Now, begone, or you will taste an angel's fury!”

The knight’s eyes widened in fright and raised his sword. “You are possessed! Sorcery! Demon!”

“That’s damn ironic.” Crowley chuckled again, though the sound was more of a pained cough.

Aziraphale ignored him, instead he concentrated on the knight stalking toward them with sword in hand. As the knight approached, Aziraphale raised his hand, letting divine anger swell inside of him. He grasped a tendril of divine energy and brought it crashing down from Heaven with a might swipe. The bolt of energy hit the knight square in the chest and sent him reeling backwards. 

“I have had it!” Aziraphale’s magnified voice rang out over the battlefield as he gently lowered Crowley to the ground. “With humans and their petty wars!”

His echoey, magnified voice caused a number of soldiers to stop fighting and search for the source of the sound. Aziraphale stood up and walked to the center of the field. As he went, his skin began to glow. His form became more indistinct, his limbs seemed to disappear as golden light shone through his skin. A thousand burning blue eyes opened and glared at the offending humans. Wings burst from the ball of light where his back used to be and Aziraphale lifted himself high above the battlefield. 

The soldiers below screamed at the sight of him. Many threw down their weapons and fled. The rest stared dumbstruck. 

“Fear me you lords and kings and sorcerers and scoundrels!” Aziraphale sent waves of fury rippling across the field along with the thundering of his voice. “I descend upon your earth from the skies. I command your very souls. You unbelievers!”

The smell of fear rose up to Aziraphale, and he found a savage satisfaction in it. The armies below were either fleeing or pissing themselves. 

“Can you hear me? I stand before you, naked to the eyes, and I will destroy any man who challenges me!” Aziraphale flew once around the battlefield, letting the soldiers take in the sight of him. The glowing, the eyes, and the divine voice were enough to reduce them all to whimpering messes. But Aziraphale also impressed upon them a knowledge of his presence, the feeling of something otherworldly and ineffable. Whatever they assumed, they would know that he was not human and dangerous. He surveyed one final time the mass of cowering and fleeing men below him, and added, “Be gone with you!”

He imbued the last words with divine power so that the humans would have no choice to obey. The armies retreated, blubbering and incoherent, to their designated sides of the field and Aziraphale sank back to the ground, resuming his usual form as he went. 

He rushed over to Crowley and found him exactly where he’d left him. His breath was coming in faint gasps now and his lips had taken on a bluish tinge. Aziraphale picked him up gently, taking great care not to jostle the arrow in his ribs. 

“Angel,” Crowley wheezed.

“Yes?”

“D’you think the glowing and the eyes were just the slightest bit of an overkill.” He said it with tremendous effort. Every couple of words were punctuated by a rattling, gurgling breath. 

“No, I don’t.” Aziraphale said, primly. “You’re hurt, and I needed them to go away so I could heal you.”

“Angel, I think this body might be done for.” He said, seriously. “S’fine, though. S’not like I won’t be back up here annoying you in no time.”

“But, my dear! It’s so terribly inconvenient!” Aziraphale tried to steady his hands so he could remove Crowley’s armor and inspect his wound properly, but they wouldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Crowley, even temporarily. He caught that thought, but didn’t have the will to rethink it. He cared for Crowley and he was tired of pretending he didn’t. His vision blurred and it took him a moment to realize he was crying. A tear splashed on Crowley’s cheek as he continued, “What am I to do while I wait for you to get a new body?”

Crowley tried to shrug, but the motion only elicited a garbled moan of pain. 

“I can heal you, I can!” Aziraphale said more to himself than Crowley. “I swear, you will be alright. I just can’t concentrate here. Hold still. I’m going to move us.”

Crowley didn’t say anything at first and Aziraphale wondered if he had finally given up on talking, but then he murmured, “I trust you, angel.” 

Aziraphale grabbed him firmly and snapped. He felt a familiar tug in his stomach as he transported them away from the battlefield. When he opened his eyes, he found himself on a sandy beach. The sun was shining here, warming them both. A gentle breeze floated along bring with it the smell of salt and sea and erasing the smells of blood and death. 

Aziraphale mircled a blanket beneath them to keep the sand from irritating Crowley. “Just lay still, my dear.”

Crowley rolled one snake-like eye up at him as if to say, “Duh.”

Aziraphale busied himself removing Crowley’s armor. He had to cut the shaft of the arrow in order to remove the armor covering hid back and ribs. He winced at the scream Crowley made when he did so. He’d never heard the demon make such a noise, and he wondered for a moment if Hell was filled with those kinds of screams. 

When he’d stripped the demon down to his underthings, he performed a miracle to determine the extent of Crowley’s wounds. The arrow had pierced his lung, which had since collapsed. Fortunately, the arrow head did not appear to be barbed, which meant he could remove it without causing significantly more damage. 

“Crowley, I can remove the arrow and fix your lung, but it’s going to take more than one miracle and it probably won't be comfortable.”

Crowley only grunted feebly in response. Aziraphale took that as permission to continue. He placed a hand of Crowley’s ribs, bracing the area around where the arrow penetrated. Then he grasped the arrow shaft and pulled hard and straight outward. Crowley screamed as the arrow left his body despite the miracle Azriaphale performed to ease it’s exit. He quickly performed another miracle to repair the damage to his lung and Crowley squirmed in pain as the organ repaired itself inside him. Despite the discomfort, he was breathing easier in moments. Aziraphale performed a final miracle to close the wound where the arrow had struck him. Crowley managed to stay still through that. 

“There,” Aziraphale panted when it was done, “that should be that. How do you feel, dear?”

“Like Hell.” Crowley grunted. “But not like m’dyin’.”

“Can you move?”

“Probably, but I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you. S’warm here and I’d love a nap.”

“Oh, alright.” Aziraphale conceded. “You go ahead and rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Crowley adjusted himself so his head was resting on Aziraphale’s thigh and closed his eyes. Aziraphale started absentmindedly stroking his hair after a moment or too and the demon hummed in pleasure, and said, “Oh, I do like to be beside the sea.”

Aziraphle performed another miracle ensuring that Crowley’s sleep would be restful and full of good dreams. Then he sent up a prayer asking that not be assigned to any more battlefields, and this time he didn’t pretend his request was anything but a silent plea for his demon’s safety. 

Original Artwork by Whiteley Foster. Not created for this fic, but sure helped inspire it. :)

**Author's Note:**

> [ Follow me on Tumblr!](https://haydenn.tumblr.com/)


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